Lacuna
by Maleficarumm
Summary: Sakura knew it then—eyes clear, smile wide and bright—that she could manage just about anything. Gray!Sakura. Sakura-centric. AU


AN: Before we get started I'd like to say that this is an experimental story; I have not followed the storyline of Naruto to its canon ending nor do I plan on it. This is something for fun and might not be long.

Lacuna

 _(n.)_ A blank space. A missing part.

Chapter One

. as bright as the sun

Sakura was young when she realized she could do just about anything.

It begins on a week's end—involving her mother, a bag of groceries, and a container of store bought mochi. She had been small back then, having to stand on her toes to peer over the lip of the counter while her mother unpacked meat and vegetables—a gentle smile working its way to her face as she rushed in to greet her. The mochi came last; packed prettily and pink—like her hair!—and she reached for them immediately.

The slap on her hand her mother gave her wasn't hard or painful but it was unexpected. Sakura gave a shocked, wide-eyed look up at her mother, who looked at her, reprimanding.

"No dessert until _after_ supper, Sakura-chan."

Sakura tucked her hand into her chest and nodded, waiting until after her mother had sauntered off to step up to the counter once more.

 _She left them here_ , Sakura had thought with interest—and within arms length too! Surely she could take just _one_ ; one wouldn't ruin her appetite, she reasoned. Sakura had to stretch to reach them, jumping slightly until her fingers grazed the edge of the container and pulled them off the counter. The momentum moved them quicker than she had accounted for, and instead to plopping into her hands like she expected, had tumbled through the air. The lid had popped open with the redistribution of weight and spilled all twelve desserts onto the floor.

Sakura was horrified, and had practically thrown herself to the floor to gather them up in her arms.

What had she been thinking disobeying her mother like that?! Her mom would be back any second and she would have to deal with the inevitable disappointment and punishment. And as if conjured by thought there she was—arms folded over her chest, mouth set in a grim line. Sakura yelped, dropping the sweets in shock. They rolled and stopped at her mother's feet.

The silence was deafening—and then Sakura began to cry.

Sakura had been trying _so hard_ not to cry anymore. She was a big girl now and smart too; she'd be starting school next year and school kids _don't cry._ Now all her hard work was ruined—fat tears rolled down her face, her nose turned red and snotty—and that's when it happened. Her mother stopped, looking taken aback, the look of disappointment leaving her face all at once. Sakura had watched her—transfixed at she bent down to collect the fallen food and place in back in its container.

"Oh, Sakura-chan," sighed her mother with a small shake of the head.

Sakura stopped crying—though her nose still itched and watered.

Was she not angry anymore? Was she not in trouble?

Her mother bent down to her, patting her face and shoulders in a comforting manner.

"It's okay, Sakura-chan. Go wash up, okay?"

And just like that it was over. She had cried, made her mother feel bad, and been sent away without repercussion. She mulled over that thought while she ate dinner and listened to her parents speak of work and the most recent, local news—excusing herself when their conversation grew mundane and boring.

Was that all it took, she wondered. Someone's angry and you're sad. And then they're sad and no longer angry. She hummed to herself while she brushed her teeth and crawled under her covers, and before sleep took hold wondered—intrigued—if it was only sadness that could sway a mind.

The old man's name from the convenient stores name was Takashi Yamamoto and he was one of the sternest people Sakura had ever met. He didn't smile much and didn't enjoy small talk. He opened shop, he ran it, and then he returned home to his retired wife and their dog—or at least that was what he told Sakura the one time she had gathered the courage to ask him about himself. He had not enjoyed her pestering and told her to leave him be—assuming her questions to be childish in nature. But Sakura was much smarter than most children, and thought if there was such a thing as a perfect person to try her theory out on first, it would be Takashi Yamamoto.

She gathered herself outside the shop window before she stepped inside—the tingling of bells signaling her arrival. Yamamoto was there like he always was, looking a little tired and hunched over but otherwise in one piece. He gave her a incredulous stare. There had been plenty of times she had been to his shop sure, but usually as a pink mop of hair practically cowering behind her mother.

Today she is alone besides the small pouch of coin tucked into her summer yukata. Sakura took a deep breath and put on her best smile—the one her father always said was just _so_ pretty—and walked up to him. Yamamoto looked a little interested at that.

"Good afternoon, Yamamoto-san," she gave her best bow to match her best smile.

"Afternoon," came his gruff response, "Where's ya ma?"

"Mama said I could walk down by myself today," Sakura said brightly, showing off the small pouch decorated with cherry blossoms. "I asked and she said I could!"

Yamamoto shifted, looking awkward. Sakura thought it was never as apparent he raised no children than moments like these.

"Ah, well. Good for you I suppose."

"Thank you very much, Yamamoto-san."

She ambled away from him then and farther into his store. It wasn't very big, but had plenty of shelves overflowing with items. Her eyes roamed over price tags, picked them carefully, and gathered them up into her arms until she sure she had enough. Sakura dumped her spoils onto the counter, a sheepish look on her face. Yamamoto added them up with a tired sigh and a shake of the head.

He gave her the total—she was short and knew it—and she handed over her money with a cheery smile like she didn't.

"Here you go," says Sakura.

It took all her willpower in that moment the remain unchanged while she watched the indifferent face of Takashi Yamamoto meld into one of exasperation.

"This ain't enough, kid."

A look of shock, then.

"It—It's not? But I—I thought."

Yamamoto shook his head.

Sakura willed her face red in that moment. "I—um," she started and then stopped. She didn't need sadness from him. She needed—Kami what was the word?— _pity._ Yes, that was it. She saw her parents take pity on people all the time; people felt bad for pitiful people, for pitiful _adults._

And she was child.

"I'm so, so sorry..."

She drew her hands into her chest and hunched inward. For all Yamamoto-san's apathetic disposition she could see the change almost immediately; he looked nervous, like he was dealing with something completely new and foreign—and maybe he was. It was just him, his wife, and his dog after all. Sakura watched him gather up her money in his long, spider-like hands, recounting it.

 _He was recounting it._

Her eyes locked on him under her bangs as he tucked the money into the pocket on his leaf green work apron.

"Miscount on my part," he said carefully. "It's enough."

Sakura paused, fraying ignorance. "R-really?"

"You got a hearin' problem, kid," he asked rhetorically, before giving a sharp nod toward the door. "Take your things and get out."

She smiled, grabbed the green plastic bag full of her goodies, bowed politely, and hurried out into the busy afternoon air. Outside, when she's clear from view she laughed, giddy. It had worked! She had done it: turned an unfortunate situation in her favor.

Her head buzzed, a little less bored with the stimuli.

She took a deep, satisfied breath—popping a stick of convenient store dango between her teeth with a grin. Sakura knew it then—eyes clear, smile wide and bright—that she could manage just about anything.


End file.
